Blue Eyes and a Lullaby
by Ana-DaughterofHades
Summary: The Avatar has grown old, and the Fire Nation has still conquered most of the world. A stranger wanders through the snow, staggering as the storm bites his skin. Blue eyes cautiously watch him from a distance. Who is he? What does he want? AU. Zutara. **Hiatus until further notice. Sorry!**
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA.**

 **You might recognize this once you read it, and you'd be right because I am rewriting Frostbitten, my story from Zutara week 2015. I want to make it longer and a thousand times better. I am using the original chapters as outlines so, like this chapter, some chapters may be very similar (but better), but as the chapters go on there will be many differences and hopefully less inconsistencies.**

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"Arrgg!" Zuko screams out of frustration and loneliness; it's heard by no one. His voice quickly fades into the white expanse of the Southern Pole.

His feet drag through the snow as flakes fall lightly onto his face; they tickle when they land on his nose, but as soon as they melt, the water crystallizes on his face, creating intranet swirl patterns across his cheeks and chin. He tightens the worn cloth wrap around his shoulders, shuddering from the prickling cold. It's patched all over; the original color of the garment is now a muted and unrecognizable red. Broadswords are strapped to Zuko's back, though right now they are about as useless as swimwear would be in wintertime. The hilts often whack the back of his head as he carelessly turns his head when he hears the howl of the wind, fearing arctic wolves.

His eyelids struggle to stay open as the wind picks up, starting to berate his face and sting his skin again. Zuko can sense the frostbite creeping up his toes and fingers, slowly like a disease eating away at his body. He pulls the edge of the wrap over his nose, breathing in the musty smell of the material that has a not surprising hidden scent of dried tea leaves.

He holds out an ungloved hand to inspect. The skin underneath his fingernails has turned a ghoulish purple and blue; his pale skin is freckled with crumbling crystalline structures. Desperately, Zuko tries to ignite a flame in his palm to melt off some of the ice that has started to accumulate in his hair and skin. But all that he is rewarded with is a puff of smoke. He searches the gray sky in hopes of a ray of sun, something to give him a boost of power.

There is nothing.

Tension leaves Zuko's body as his feet suddenly lose traction on a hidden ice slick, and he lands hard on his back. The snow seeps through his clothes, but the numbness is welcomed as it calms the burning pain fire whips have left behind. Zuko bites his severely chapped lips; his teeth chatter from the bitter cold of the storm. But he still lays there, staring lazily at the colorless sky. Everything is quiet, except for the roar of the storm that has no faded to a distant hum in his blocked ears and his heavy breaths.

Dizziness and sleepiness try to take him, and his heavy, frozen eyelashes carry down the lid that shrouds him in a harsh darkness. But he forces them open with a sudden, apparently hidden, spark of determination. From within, Zuko tries to call up his breath of fire, but all that comes out is a another pitiful puff of wispy smoke. His lips, now almost to a shade of purple, turn down in a frown.

Instead, Zuko begins to chant encouragements in his mind, forcing himself to a wobbly stand. He yells at his feet to move; his voice echoes throughout the vast landscape but is soon swept up in the storm. His feet obey and all that is left to do is to keep plodding on.

Would Uncle have a proverb for this situation? Doubtful, Zuko thinks while shaking his head, but proverbs won't find him shelter.

A song might though.

The thought forces him to stop; the snow piles against his feet; water soaks into his boots. A song? His mind, frozen like the rest of his body, is slow to catch up to what his ears have been subconsciously listening to all along. A sweet lullaby sung by what must be a voice of a spirit. The woman's voice casts a blanket over him as the melody warms up his body when his own fire couldn't.

Past anymore sane thoughts, Zuko's feet start pounding the snow underneath him, no longer able to sense the cold that has numbed his whole body. He wants to, needs to, find the source of this noise, of this beauty. Snow is flung behind him, and his sheathed Dao blades rattle along with the wind.

He can hear lyrics now, not just the beautiful smynophy. The bliss from her voice overtakes him; he doesn't realize he has closed his eyes. Zuko notices the sudden darkness too late. When he reluctantly opens his eyes, he is already stumbling into a ravine he can not see the bottom of. Just a pit of pure blackness and nightmares.

The song cuts off the moment his feet leave the ground, treading nothing but air and falling snow. Is she a Siren spirit, her song leading him to death? It is the only thought Zuko has as he starts to flail his arms aimlessly. His back and head hit against the icy side of the ravine; his swords clink against his back, digging into the old open wounds. The wall of the ravine is sharp with chipped ice and his now exposed arm is laced with tiny cuts.

Zuko's first instinct is to look down. Chunks of ice from his impact with the wall fall from their original place and into the darkness below him. Zuko can't hear them hit the ground. Gulping, Zuko looks up to see what had stopped his fall.

Who had stopped his fall, he mentally corrects. Zuko is pleasantly surprised to see a pair of blue clothed hands clutching onto his own. Zuko's eyesight is too fuzzy and dark to see his savior's face. He swings his body around so his front is flush with the wall; his feet begin to find purchase on the ice in the form of tiny crevices. His free hand grips any jutting out piece of the wall. The sharp corners slice into his palm and he leave a faint trail of blood as he starts to climb under the trembling grasp of his savior.

He eats snow when his body is finally parallel to the lovely, frozen ground he has come to miss in the seconds of hanging in dead air. Zuko hears the panting of another human being, causing him to swallow the snow and flip himself over with a groan. The entirety of his body aches and the wound on his back are pulsing, probably bleeding again.

Pressure is building up behind his eyes and the sky is to painful and bright to look at, so he closes his eyes before he feels the movement of another figure rest beside him.

"You better not have died. Not after I saved you." His savior is female, and her voice is soft but stern. She's aggravated and Zuko wants to laugh. He stays silent, and his eyes remain closed as he tries to sort out all the throbbing pains combined with a frozen numbness.

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His breaths are shallow and uneven. She thinks he must be crazy; this man doesn't even have enough clothes to survive a pleasant day in the South Pole much less one of the worse storms they have had this year. But he looks in pain or, at least, in need of help. The corners of his mouth crinkle in what must be a wince. She bends the falling snow away from him not wanting him to go into a cold sickness that is common in her tribe. And like a curious child, she studies the foreign object in front of her.

His lips are a curious shade of purple. One of his cheeks is a rosy red from the temperature; the other... the other... She gasps; her lips part, letting her taste the frosty air on her tongue. She forcefully pulls off one of her gloves, not caring of the dangers of frostbite. Her dark caramel fingers hover over a scar that mars half of his appearance. She leans her ear down to his chest, only satisfied when she hears a faint, but steady, heart beat. He's warm enough to melt some of the snow beneath his body. He must have fever, and he has to be unconscious, which isn't good, but at least he won't be in pain.

Her blue eyes flicker back up to his face. His hair is a shaggy black mess that is littered white with unmelted snow flakes. She flicks some of his long locks away from his face. The man's scar goes into his hairline and wraps around his ear, crumpling it. This stranger must have been victim of a cruel and ruthless Fire Nation attack. How else could he have gained a burn scar? She stares at his face; he couldn't have been older than nineteen, maybe twenty. He was no older than her brother and possibly only two years older than herself.

"Who are you?" she whispers to the wind and to herself.

"Who are you?" The voice of the young man startles her. His voice is deep and raspy, like he hasn't had water in weeks. Then again, maybe he hasn't.

"My name is Katara, Lost One," she tells him kindly, brushing away his hair that has fallen back onto his closed eyelids. She has yet to see the color of his eyes. "My tribe will help you. But we are still a few lengths away. Can you stand?" Her warm breath passes over his face and he sighs.

"I-I think so. But it hurts to open my eyes."

She nods, having already assumed that fact. "I'll help you stand." She wraps an arm under his torso after he sits up halfway and helps the man onto his feet. He leans heavily on her, and she notices his breathing is erratic. She has to get him to her tribe soon.

"I-I d-don't think I-I can-n wa-alk," he tries to whisper as his teeth chatter when a sudden gust of wind comes through, ripping through both of their clothes.

She bites her lips and finally allows the snow to fall back on them. "We won't have to."

With a wave of her hand, they are both standing on a flat, ice harden board. Katara pushes off with her left foot, sending them sliding them away from the ravine and towards her tribe. His head lollies onto her shoulder in what she must assume is a sign of his unconsciousness.

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He doesn't know what his savior is doing, or how she is doing it. The only thing Zuko is conscious of is the feeling of wind nipping at his skin and himself flying off to what he hopes is safety and a warm bed.

Zuko soon falls into a dreamless sleep in his savior's arms.

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 **I hope you all like the new version of the chapter:) If you haven't, I suggest you DO NOT read Frostbitten; it is honestly so badly written now that I am rereading some of the chapters. This is going to be a side project while I work on Falling to Pieces.**

 **Please Review/Follow/Favorite:)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA**

 **Thanks to Ravynne Queene Of The Lily, Guest, LovinZuko, and csnow28 for reviewing:)**

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When Katara collapses under the dead weight of the mysterious man, the women of her tribe rush out to meet them. They're hair is tied in various styles of braids and beaded with different colors of the sea. Katara has known these women all her life and their blue shaded eyes blink questionably at Katara's fallen body. She sighs and pushes the arm of the stranger off of her; she lays on her back as she opens her mouth to answer her tribe.

"The healer's hut. Help me bring him to the healer's hut," she says calmly as if she didn't just look like a lunatic who was crying a dead body. One of her mom's old friends, Nakka, laughs at Katara's ridiculousness and starts to give orders to the rest of the tribe.

Nakka comes to help Katara off of the frozen ground with a huff. "You always get into the craziest situations, Little Polar Dog." Her graying brown hair is only visible when the light from the torches hits it.

It is past sunset now as the gray clouds of the afternoon have darkened to a pitch black. The snow plays shadow puppets on the ground. A crescent moon is out, though Katara can not see its illuminating shape.

Katara drapes one of the man's arms over her shoulder, and Nakka takes the other one, not complaining about the weight. The healer's tent is much too far away for Katara, and soon she is panting short puffs of white air. The man's feet make two tracks in the freshly fallen snow as his feet drag behind them. Nakka's cheeks are red from the effort. But soon Katara's brother comes out of their home tent as they pass by and grabs the feet of the stranger. Their pace quickens.

Her grandmother is already waiting by the bigger hut, opening up the flap just as Katara, Nakka, and her brother reach it. Katara's mouth is set into a thin line of determination. Blood from the man's back has already colored her blue clothes in a sticky red. She will not let this man die.

"I have a bowl of water set up and fresh bandages if need be," says her Gran Gran.

Katara nods as her brother and Nakka gently lays the man down on a pile of white and speckled furs next to the roaring fire. The hut is already basking in heat, giving Katara a sense of comfort from the snowy wasteland she had just come from.

"He will need food, water, and new clothes," Nakka voices, breaking Katara out of her mesmerizing hold the flames held her in.

Gran Gran nods. "I'll see what I can scrounge up."

As her grandmother leaves the tent, Katara kneels down next to the stranger. Nakka begins to discard her gloves and over coat, not wanting them to get ruined anymore than they've already have. Katara bites her lips, looking cautiously at the bowl of water to Nakka's back. Now it is time to make excuses, thinks Katara.

"Oh, Nakka?" Katara starts.

"Yes?"

"I don't need anymore help. I-I can handle it from here. You should go home and take care of Nori," Katara says, speaking of Nakka's adopted child.

"Hmmm, I guess you're right." Nakka turns around, her blue steel eyes flicker towards the stranger. "Are you sure you can take care of him?"

"I am more than capable," Katara smiles. "You've taught me all that I know."

Nakka gives Katara a quick kiss on her forehead, "Good night, dear. Call me if you need any help."

Nakka exits the hut, and the polar dog skins flap behind her. Now Katara is alone with the unconscious- possibly dying -man, and Sokka. "You have to be more careful, sis," Sokka scolds, folding his arms and tapping his sharp boomerang against his bicep. "She could have refused to leave."

"I know, I know. Stop nagging and help or leave before you faint." At that, Sokka hands her the bowl of water with a slight queasy look and scampers away. Katara throws her gloves to the other side of the hut. She unstraps the man's sword from his back, wondering why he has it in the first place. From inspecting the hilt, her eyes widen as she realizes the sword is actually two swords. They're finally crafted and seem to be well looked after. She places them aside for further inspection later.

She pulls off his scuffed boots next, breathing out a sigh of relief when Katara sees that his toes aren't ruined by frostbite but are only a mild shade of the wrong color. She massages his feet trying to get the circulation flowing back into them. His fingers are in the worse shape; she had noticed this out in the blizzard.

Katara bends a glob of water out of the bowl and covers his hands with it. The water glows a bright blue and she prays no one from her tribe walks in on her. As the brilliant light dims, his fingers return to a peach red and lose their unhealthy purplish blue color.

There is a crunch of snow outside the tent; Katara's heart races, and the water surrounding his hands splashes onto the skins and her dress, soaking them. But it is only her Gran Gran coming back into the hut carrying all the necessary supplies. A sigh of relief passes through her lips.

Ignoring her grandmother neatly placing the supplies near the fire, Katara rips open his already fraying shirt, wanting to see the bleeding wounds. His chest- she can't help but blush at the sight of him. He really is a beautiful stranger -is sculpted with hard lines, achieved from what she must assume is years of sword practice. But his pale skin is marred with tiny silver scars, like someone purposefully cut into him. Each mark is the same length. Her mind wanders, but her fingers probe his side, feeling for bruised or broken ribs. But nothing is out of order, and she thinks the stranger should count himself lucky though he doesn't seem like a very lucky man.

"Can you help me flip him over?" Katara asks before her grandmother decides to leave.

Together, as gingerly as they can, they flip the man over and onto his stomach. Katara tears away the rest of his tattered shirt to reveal angry red lashes criss crossing across his back, marring every bit of visible flesh. Dried and fresh blood covers his pale skin, and in some places the lashes have become swollen with puss and possible infection. They hadn't been taken care of after they were given to the man. The wounds are angry and red and throbbing. Katara shakily gulps.

Her grandmother, seeing the desperate situation, quickly and wordlessly hands her extra cloth and bandages Katara needs to stop the bleeding. Katara, palms pressed flat on his back and on the deepest lash, puts as much of her weight to add pressure, hoping to stop the bleeding quickly; her grandmother presses against the few Katara has missed. The white cloth is quickly stained red. When the bleeding finally stops and her hands are painted with his warm blood, Katara coats his whole back in water; the bowl is now empty and the hut shines with the blue light.

She heals one lash at a time, taking extra care with the ones that seem to have an infection. Though his flesh starts to knit together, he will live the rest of his life with long, slightly puckered scars over his back- if he lives at all.

"Honey, where did you find this man?" Gran Gran questions quietly, not wanting to disturb Katara in her healing process.

Katara's teeth scrape against her chapped bottom lip before responding. "I few miles outside of our tribe where I was practicing the waterbe- the you know what. He was about to fall into a ravine."

His back is now a raw pink, and fatigue starts to set into her bones. The light dims slightly.

Her grandmother has moved to attend to the fire by the time she speaks again. "We must find out if he is a danger to this tribe. People may be looking for him." Her old eyes glance at the man's healed but scarred back. "No one inflicts that punishment on themselves."

"I know Gran Gran but let's save the interrogation for later- for when he is actually conscious."

He told me his eyesight hurts, Katara thinks. She weaves her fingers through his silky hair, running her nails across his scalp. She pulls away with fresh blood on the tips of her fingers and in the cracks of her chipped fingernails. With the last bit of her healing water that she saved from his back, she heals the back of his head, hoping the hit to his head won't cause blindness as she had seen in many cases before him.

"We can flip him over again," she tells her grandmother.

The hut is warm enough with the fire to leave him shirtless and to let his skin breath, but she does dress him in thicker pants, socks, and boots. The color is wrong on him. The light blues and pure whites contrast with his red lips and sharp facial features. The insulated clothes seem ridiculous on his muscled figure. She discards the shreds of his clothes near the door flaps and sticks her head out, allowing the cool air to settle the blush in her cheeks. But she has undressed many men before for medical purposes. Why is he any different?

Katara comes back to sit by the man; now all she can do is wait until he wakes up for a more thorough diagnosis.

"You're going to have to come up with an excuse to why he is fully healed," her grandmother finally speaks.

Katara waves off her grandmother's concerns with a flick of her wrist, watching the silent rise and fall of his bare chest. "Only Nakka saw the state he was in but not even by that much. There is nothing to be worried about."

"I wasn't talking about the tribe, Katara." Out of the corner of her blue eyes she sees her grandmother leave, and now she has something new to worry about.

Katara knows she should do the same- to get rest after this long night of constant heart pounding -but, even if she did, Katara would not be able to take her mind off this beautiful stranger, much less sleep under a pile of furs with her racing thoughts.

Her blue eyes glance up at his scar again. Her fingers trace the grooves and outline his crumpled ear. The scar is rough and intimidating, and surprisingly hot to her touch.

"K-ka... tara?" he mumbles.

A small smile graces her lips. "You're awake. Would you like something to eat?"

"Yes," he croaks, "please."

Katara reaches back to grab the cup of broth. It is not as hot as it could have been even with having been set close to the fire, but it would do for now. She brings the wooden cup to his lips, tilting it back slowly. The stranger slurps it down eagerly until the cup is emptied.

"When was the last time you ate?" she asks while wiping a dribble of broth off of his chin.

"I don't quite remember."

She frowns when she notices he continues to keep his eyes closed. "Do they still hurt?"

"My eyes or my back?"

"Both. But more importantly your eyes." Her fingers gently brush through his hair, as if expecting to another bleeding gash underneath.

"I- I don't think so?" The man is not very convincing; Katara sends him a disapproving frown that he can not see. He starts to sit up, only to have her place a hand on his chest and press him back down to lay in the pile of furs.

"You should rest," Katara says; he will feel better in the morning, she thinks, and then I can get a look at his eyes.

It is well past midnight and Katara wonders if she can finally see the stars or if the storm clouds are still covering the twinkling lights. She stands to leave the hut, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt, when a hand latches onto her wrist. Her wrist is on fire, but the grip is gentle.

"Was there a Siren out in the snow with you?"

"A Siren?" A worried frown mars her face again. He must have hit his head harder than she previously thought. Katara never thought that he would end up being a delusional stranger.

"Yes, she had the most beautiful voice."

Had he heard her singing over the icy wind? Had he heard her mother's lullaby and the silent sobs that came during it? "There are no Sirens out here. Rest, I will stay with you."

He curls on his side, and his mouth releases a gasp. Startled, Katara's blue eyes grow wide, believing he found a hidden injury. "What happened to my wounds?" He winces as his hand comes to brush over the unexpectedly smooth skin of his back. "They're healed."

"You'll still have the scars. There was nothing I could do about that. I-"

"You are a waterbender then, yes?"

Katara's hand clenches into a fist at her side as her mouth gaps and as her mind tries to come up with a perfectly good excuse to why he is not dead but whole again. "I'm a good healer?"

"Okay. I totally buy that," the man deadpans, his back still turned away from her. He snuggles deeper into the furs. "You're a waterbender. There is no shame in hiding that fact."

If only you knew, she thinks. "Go to sleep, Lost One, and I will stay the night." The man's breathing soon slows into another sleep, leaving Katara to ponder her thoughts. Throughout the night she watches him, drawing her eyes across the angles of his back and the curves of his legs. She falls into a light sleep once or twice while leaning against the sturdy and comforting wall of the hut.

When dawn breaks through the parting gray clouds and the first glimpse of sun since the start of the southern winter streams through the door, the stranger stirs in his bed; one of the longer furs that had been placed over him slips off of his shoulder. He rolls onto his back with no sound and begins to stand, both of his hands flat on the ground before he leaps up.

Katara watches him through half lidded eyes; she is too tired from the previous night's events to scold him for being ridiculous and how 'he really shouldn't be exerting himself considering that he could have died last night.' The man has still not opened his eyes but is able to move flawlessly to open the flaps of the hut, only stumbling for a second as his legs reawaken.

Katara cautiously stand behind the stranger as snow is crushed under his new boots. No one in the tribe is up- as it is too early in the dawn -to witness this unexplainable display. His arms stretch out in front of him as if he is trying to absorb every ray of sun that shines through the fractured clouds. The man's posture straightens; his visible shaking- that Katara missed when her eyes were slowly peeling themselves open -has subsided. The wobble that Katara had seen in his steps vanishes.

Snow crunches under her fur boots; his head turns slightly, enough for her to finally see his eyes. Strangely, they are not directly fixated on her, but she is too captivated by their color for her to question the oddity as a healer.

His eyes are gold, like the sun and like all Fire Nation citizens she hates with a burning passion. This man is the enemy and her fingers curl into a tight fist.

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 **I am so happy everyone is liking this story so far! It was really just a split second decision to rewrite it. There is going to be a major change to the plot from the orginal story in the next chapter; can you guess what it is? I probably made it too obvious...**

 **I am going to try to keep updating this every Friday (if I can).**

 **Please Review/Follow/Favorite:)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own ATLA.**

 **Thanks to Guest and Ravynne Queene Of The Lily for reviewing:)**

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He can't see them but he can sense another person behind him. Their body is illuminated and filled by a bright, golden light, but darkness has mostly engulfed his eyes. Zuko can not tell where he is, but only that another person is standing near by. He is not alone and he starts to inwardly panic. Nothing can be accomplished when one is blind, he thinks, though one of his friends would rightfully smack him for that statement.

His heart hammers in his chest, but otherwise he hopes his facial features are calm. He doesn't know this stranger and would rather not like to show an inch of emotion. Emotion is an advantage for the other person. Zuko hears them suck in a breath; he decides that it is time to speak. "Ka..tara?" he tries first, the only name he had heard through his semi conscious state last night.

"You bastard," he hears from a very angry female voice. And soon he is being pushed through a door of soft materials, and he begins to stumble again as the power of the sun is blocked by the hut.

The woman- Katara? -gracelessly pushes him into the soft pile he woke up on. This is the Water Tribe so he assumes the pile is made up of furs. He finds that glow of light- now slightly dimmed -and tries to angle his head the best he can towards it. He is blind, and now he is screwed.

* * *

She recoils as if the stranger had struck her with the back of his hand. Katara's knuckles are white as her fist trembles at her side. The rays of early sunlight outline the man's body, causing his skin to glow and his eyes to reflect miniature suns. But he just stands there, partially looking at her and partially gazing off into the distance.

His unconcerned, golden eyes mock her. When he speaks her name she wants to scream and tear his head off. Fight him to the death so he knows how much his people have hurt her and her tribe.

"You bastard," Katara sneers, and then forcefully pushes him back into the healing hut as she hears the quiet voices of her people waking up from a long night's sleep. "You're Fire Nation, aren't you?" she says, eyeing him carefully. This time the man stares straight at her.

He jerks at her sudden question; his fingers silently reach up to his face, brushing under his eyelashes. The stranger gulps and hangs his head as if he is ashamed of the answer he is about to deliver. His black hair falls in front of his face, shadowing the gold color of his eyes. "Yes." His voice is still raspy. "But I-"

"We hate your people around these parts," Katara spits venomously, "I especially hate them." She tugs on a loose lock of her brown hair in frustration and contempt.

His sigh is depressing. "I wouldn't expect anything different." A hand drags down his face; he closes his eyes.

Katara runs a finger over chapped lips as she glances at the door way. It will only be a matter of time before her grandmother, or worse Sokka, came in to check on her. Maybe it is for the best that the stranger continues to keep his eyes shut. Though, something in the back of her mind is nagging her; the thought is tickling the tip of her tongue.

"Listen closely. You're Fire Nation which means you will be thrown back into the wild from which you came- if anyone catches you of course." Katara growls, but not at the man. "You don't have to worry about me, though. You are my patient which means I won't throw you out until I deem you fully healed."

His eyes snap open; there it is again, the daunting golden hue. "Do you re-"

"Don't get all sentimental. I hate your people, but I never turn my back on people who need me. For now on, until I can find another solution, keep your eyes closed. Pretend they still hurt. Understand?"

The man's face stays expressionless, and he licks his lips before he speaks. "Uhh.. about that. I think I'm blind."

"You think?" Katara mocks. "I'd say you either are or you're not."

He grunts. "I'm blind." He scratches the back of his head, ruffling his inky locks. "But I still have a vague idea that you are in this room with me, though I couldn't tell you anything else about this place. Since I'm pretty sure it's not pitch dark."

Subconsciously her hand waves in front of his eyes, but the man only blinks, not reacting to Katara's movements. "Hmm, how do you know I'm in the room with you?" she asks, curious as all her previous anger falls away as the worried healer in her takes over.

He responds as Katara moves to check the back of his head, making sure she didn't miss an injury. The man's hair is fine silk as it weaves through the spaces between her fingers. "Agni, you hands are cold!" the stranger explains as he flinches when her fingers begin to brush aside his hair.

"This whole place is cold," she retorts back, her eyes igniting with fire once more. "Now tell me."

"This is going to sound crazy, but all I can see is this ball of light. Everything else is pitch dark but the light fills a part of my vision, taking a shape of a human body. I can only assume it is your inner fire, and that's why I can tell you're in the room with me. I'm sure if there were other people around me, I would see more patches of light."

"You're right, that is crazy," Katara deadpans. She is looking straight in his eyes now; her own blue ones flicker back and forth, determining whether his eyes move with her, determining if he is lying. He is not. She is close enough to see specks of orange and red fracturing the metallic color.

"It's not crazy," he says with more confidence now. "I can see your inner fire because I am a firebender. My normal sight has been blocked, but not my bending sight."

"The more you reveal about yourself, Mister, the more my hatred for you sinks lower and lower. You're not winning my affection any time soon," Katara hisses. "Let's say this is true- though I have no reason to believe you -we have to set some rules before my grandmother wakes up."

His lips twitch into a sly smile. "Your wish is my command, Waterbender."

Katara wants to smack him. "When they come to ask where you are from, lie, change your name, do whatever you have to keep your nationality a secret."

"I understand, though I would've thought that was the obvious thing to do." The man ponders for a moment, tilting his head to the side. "Should I lie to you too?"

"I would not advise it, but you must when others are around." He nods, closing his eyes once more. The man coughs, holding up a hand to cover his mouth. After he clears his throat, he asks, "Do you have anything to drink?"

She picks up a cup that had been forgotten the night before. Katara reaches for his hand, and places the wooden cup directly onto the base so he doesn't have to fumble for it. Pensively she watches him, wondering if he will need any assitance. But he slowly brings the cup to his mouth, brushing it over his skin until he feels his lips.

"Thank you," he says after he takes a sip.

Katara sits cross legged in front of him, and she plays with the lose strands that had fallen out of her braid. She twists them tight around her finger. Luckily her grandmother usually gets up an hour or so past dawn, and her brother even later; Nakka's the wild card though. But Katara figures that she still has time to pry all of this man's secrets out of him.

"What is your name, your real name?" Her voice is monotone, all of the initial anger having been depleted.

"My name is Zuko," he says in a whisper.

She frowns; the nagging sensation is back. "What is the name you will tell the others?"

"Lee."

"Are people looking for you, _Lee_?" She tests his fake name on her tongue; it doesn't match the man sitting across from her. It's too common; he seems to be unique and chaotic and not common.

"Yes."

At his answer, Katara tenses; he is a danger to the tribe and to her remaining family. "How hard are they looking for you?"

He laughs; it's mirthless. "I have a bounty on my head for ten thousand gold pieces, dead or alive."

Her hands clench into fists; her knuckles turn white. "Why are you here then?" _Why did you see it fit to endanger a tribe that had no way of defending itself?_

"I was shipwrecked north of your tribe in a brutal storm. I'm guessing it was the same one I got stuck in on land."

That would explain Zuko's lack of preparation for a southern winter. But it doesn't make him less of an idiot. "Do your bounty hunters know you are here?"

"They believe that I am still on Whale Tail Island. It will be only a matter of time before they venture south. Though they are pretty stupid, so who knows how long that will take."

The amusement swimming in Zuko's eyes is shattered by Katara's arctic wolf glare. "You will have to lea-"

"Have you ever heard the tale of the current Prince of the Fire Nation, Katara?" Zuko interrupts, his mouth set in an impassive line once he is down speaking.

"I believe I have not." Katara doesn't usually concern herself with other nation's royalty. But she has heard the basics that get passed around by the warriors when they come back home for a few months. The Prince is no longer allowed in the Fire Nation. There have been speculations of what he did, but the warriors only pass around rumors that are all whispers to her ears. If the Prince's name had ever been spoken around her, that name has been suppressed. Possibly too deep to claw its way to the front of Katara's memory.

"Then you are in no danger."

Her next intrusive question is cut off by the sound of boots crunching on the accumulated snow outside of the hut. She closes her mouth, and Zuko fumbles for the pile of furs to lay down on. Katara stands ready to meet her grandmother. Nakka walks in first, carrying a sleeping child in her arms, then her grandmother comes in with the morning's food; her brother follows from behind, his eyes set into a dangerous glare.

"I think it is time to talk to your stranger," says Sokka, not even wishing her a good morning. Typical.

"He just woke up but hasn't said anything of use yet," Katara lies flawlessly. "But he tells me his head and eyes still hurt so go easy on your questioning."

* * *

Zuko can hear Katara's voice somewhere off to his left; he assumes the newcomers are to his right. But with his eyelids firmly closed, he is truly blind and can not tell how many are here to interrogate him. The majority of the voices sound female, save for the one deep masculine voice that seems to be arguing with Katara.

"Can you get him to sit up and face us, Katara?" the male voice tells her.

Zuko hates when people help him, but he allows it this once when he feels Katara's soft hands on his bare chest easing him into a sitting position. Her hand is like ice and her fingernails dig slightly into his back as she pushes him upwards, angeling him towards the voices. Now it is time to lie- Zuko hopes he has improved from that one time many years ago, but he has been forming this story for a couple of months.

"What is your name, and where are you from, Stranger?"

He nips the inside of his cheek before responding. "My name is Lee; I travel from the Earth Kingdom."

The other man clears his throat, and Zuko hears the whine of a child. "Why are you in the Southern Water Tribe?"

"I was shipwrecked in a bad storm off your coast. I was trying to find shelter when Katara saved me from my own stupidity."

Zuko hears Katara huff before silence descends upon him; Zuko isn't sure what is going on. It takes all his effort not to open his eyes as the concentration of keeping them closed becomes painful for him. There are soft whispers his ears twitch to pick up, but all he can decipher is possible cooing from a mother to her child.

"I think we should all go and deliberate this with our tribe. It is their right to a decision too," says a more mature female voice. It's the woman who had been counseling her child, and Zuko also recognizes her voice from when he was being dragged in.

There is a sudden stillness in the air that he can tell all three- four? -presences have left, leaving him in eire silence. Risking his safety, he gradually opens his eyes and sighs when he finds the room is indeed empty as there is no flicker of light for him to be startled by. With his hands, he pads around the area he is sitting in. His hands outline a ripped shirt- probably his -, two empty cups- one was filled broth; the other, water-, more furs, and he feels the residual heat from a dying fire. Irritation soon sets in when Zuko can't find his dao blades. It is the only thing from home he has left and they carry something special.

His anger rises, anger from his idiocy and hopelessness. Not only has he been blinded by this trip, but he seems to have been robbed. Uncle would resight a proverb for his misfortune and than say 'I told you so.'

A person comes back thirty minutes later, a good ten after Zuko decided it was best to keep his eyes shut.

"Open your eyes," she whispers. It's Katara, his mind already cataloging everyone's unique voice.

Zuko tentatively lifts his lids to find a startling spark of light in front of him. It's radiating power and he has to wonder if she has some hidden Fire Nation blood in her.

"You're allowed to stay until you're healed well enough, and I told them that you're blind. You are going to use a bandage to cover your eyes so you won't have to keep them closed all the time."

"Why are you helping me? You shouldn't lie to your people; I don't want to force you to do anything." Zuko fumbles to hold the bandage up to his face as Katara ties it to the back of his head. Her light is now shrouded in a fuzzy blackness, but it is still detectable.

Her hand brushes over the ridges of his scar as she slides the cloth down to fully cover his eyes; he flinches. "Everything I am doing is my decision, not yours. You are the single most interesting thing that has happened in these parts. But don't think anything of it, _Zuko_ ," she says, "I still despise you."

"Thank you," he says breathlessly, not fazed by her apparent disgust. Her fingers are still on his face, playing with his bandage. "Can you keep a secret?" His split second decision making will get him in trouble one day and it's already starting to. But there is something about Katara...

"Of course," she says with little irritation, then she sarcastically proceeds with, "I'm already keeping yours, aren't I?"

"I'm the Prince of the Fire Nation."

* * *

 **Sorry if this chapter was boring; I am still trying to set up the story.**

 **So Zuko is blind now because I didn't want to make this story boring and cliche. I hope I explained how he could still "see" people okay.**

 **Please Review/Follow/Favorite:)**

 **Ps. I am on vacation now so I am hoping to get Falling to Pieces updated by next Friday.**


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